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forward, resting her head on her soapy knees, a damp curl falling across her forehead. ‘Hugh, where are we going tonight?’
    Opening his mouth, Hugh started flossing his teeth, tipping his head backwards and forwards as he moved between each molar, flicking out bits of leftover tuna sandwich from lunchtime. Frankie watched him. Hugh was obsessive about his appearance. Always plucking, shaving, tweezing, brushing, he spent longer in the bathroom than anyone she’d ever met.
    ‘Hugh . . . did you hear me?’
    Gargling with mouthwash, he sloshed it from side to side, and spat the blue liquid out into the sink. ‘Yes, I heard you. And no, I’m not telling you. It’s a surprise. Wait and see.’ Wiping his mouth on a towel, he flashed a smile at himself in the mirror and, pleased with his reflection, marched out of the bathroom.
    Wait and see . Frankie grinned to herself and, wiping the froth off the rim of her wine glass, drained its contents in one go.
     
    ‘You can’t look yet. Two more minutes and we’ll be there.’
    Hugh sat in the back of the cab barking directions to the taxi driver and covering Frankie’s eyes with the palm of his hand. Frankie leaned back against the PVC seats, the floor heaters warming her bare legs, and wondered where they were going. At first she’d tried to work out if they were heading towards Soho, Chelsea or Notting Hill, but orienteering had never been her strong point and after a couple of minutes of turning left and then right she’d become totally confused and given up.
    Suddenly the cab swerved and, braking hard, screeched to a standstill.
    ‘We’re here. I’ll go first. Keep your eyes closed.’
    Hugh opened the door and she could hear him paying the driver. Frankie pulled a face. Hugh could be so bossy sometimes, she thought, grasping his hand and stepping tentatively out of the cab. The air felt cold and damp and she shivered in her high heels. Stumbling slightly, she leaned on Hugh, who led her briskly up the concrete path. Then she heard the sound of a door being opened. Suddenly she experienced a jumble of warmth, light and noise.
    ‘OK, you can look now.’ He took his hand away from her face.
    There was a chorus of voices: ‘ Surprise!? ’
    Opening her eyes, Frankie was greeted by the sight of Hugh’s old school chum, a ponytailed advertising executive called Adam, and his much younger girlfriend, Jessica. They were grinning like clowns and wielding two huge black shiny balls. Frankie’s mouth went dry as she took in her surroundings, her excitement escaping like steam from a kettle. It was replaced by pure, 100 per cent proof horror. This wasn’t a candlelit, white-linen-tableclothed, champagne-serving restaurant. It wasn’t even a restaurant. It was a ten-pin bowling alley . Her face plummeted like a bungee-jumper. She was in the middle of a bowling alley on her twenty-ninth birthday wearing a dry-clean-only Karen Millen outfit and a pair of hideously expensive Pied à Terre slingbacks. Suddenly aware that everyone was staring at her, her face bounced back like elastic and into a glassy grin.
    ‘Jessica, Adam, what a surprise!’ Struggling to sound enthusiastic, Frankie gave them a kiss on each cheek.
    Jessica started giggling. She sounded like a flat battery. ‘Isn’t this totally groovy? I knew you’d love it when Adam suggested it.’ Standing on tiptoes, she kissed Adam on his nose and grinned like a lovesick teenager. ‘Isn’t he clever?’
    Frankie tried hard to swallow the lump, the size of a bowling bowl, which stuck in her throat. ‘Adam’s idea?’ Not having a clue what was going on, she looked desperately at Hugh for an explanation.
    Oblivious of her crushing disappointment, he nodded in amusement and began one of his anecdotes. ‘Well, I’d booked a restaurant and was going to take you out for dinner – as I always do.’ He puffed out his chest slightly, as if proud of this fact. ‘But then Adam had this rather fabulous idea of